Is It Worth It
by locofoco
Summary: Surely Lily Evans must have SOME regrets from becoming James Potter's girlfriend. one-shot


Is It Worth It? by locofoco

Some people ask me, it is worth it? Is it worth giving up your privacy to the whole of Hogwarts by being James Potter's girlfriend? Is it worth having the whole school know you have a Smurf bra, especially when only a handful know what a Smurf is? When not even half know I'm being ironic?

Usually before I reply haughtily to inquirers with a snort of laughter and "Yeah, duh," I think for a moment. Is it worth it?

James wakes up at the crack of dawn but I sleep for my money's worth. He lets me go on until nine on weekends. An act of horror, in my opinion, but even worse, he wakes up at seven. On a Saturday.

I know! Not humanly possible.

I would normally wake up at seven on a weekday, one hour before classes begin. A sufficient amount of time to get dressed, eat breakfast, and even polish up my homework and search for the answers I wasn't sure about the previous night. For me now to have my morning ritual, I have to wake up an hour earlier to fit in James's. He wakes up at five thirty. Five thirty.

Again: not humanly possible.

However, I do not do all this stuff because I'm a pushover girlfriend. Far from it. I happen to…enjoy my boyfriend's finer points.

While hiding from the librarian in the Herbology section.

James is very—how to word without making him out to be a total pervert—_awake_ in the morning.

And I say so lovingly.

Not to mention he wakes up at such an ungodly hour just to shower when no one else is up. When we snog he smells _so_ good.

Oh, no. McGonagall just walked by, asking if what I'm writing is class related. How can I explain to her the concept of keeping a diary in the middle of class? I have a reputation to keep up.

Oh, no again. James knows about my diary, and by his expression, I think he saw his name and snog. I can already see the ideas forming in his face, and, sadly, they're all probably accurate.

He can read my mind, I swear. And us having Remus as a mutual best friend doesn't help, because he can read my mind too. He can read everyone's mind. That's probably how James knew that one day I was lying when I said I liked him wearing his hat in sixth year. It covered his hair. At that time I was beginning to form feelings for him—feelings that would only become fully apparent and not ridiculed by myself until a year later—and decided his hair wasn't all that pointless. But, to keep my image, I told him the hat was all right and he should keep it for it covered his luscious black locks—of course I didn't say it like that, though. That would be risking him getting a bigger head. Remus being a mind reader must have told him to take it off. James never covered his luscious black locks again.

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, _no_. James just read on my journal page—the snoop!—his name and luscious black locks. He has just run a hand through his hair. I fight a giddy sigh.

Another mind reader is Sirius. In fact, I don't think he really is one. Just a bloody good guesser. He beat it out of me that I liked James with consist gabbing.

Like so:

SIRIUS: James got new pants. Did you notice?

ME: Really? I…I hadn't noticed.

SIRIUS: Are you sure? I saw you staring at him just now. At his…pants, actually. Funny, too, since it wasn't the heel area. More up. More at his—

ME: Oh! Ha ha! Would you look at the time? Ha! I, uh, I have a, um…a…an assignment to work on! Ha ha! Bye!

I'm a confident woman. Ask anyone. Sirius was able to suck out every ounce of self-worth I had at the mere mention of James.

You know what James did right after he found out I liked him?

He laughed. He was chuckling deep in his belly like my dad would when something funny was flashing across the television screen. I bit my lip, rubbing the toe of my Mary Janes into the floor, mumbling, "It's not that funny."

"Oh, yes it is," he said. "It's bloody hysterical."

Then we snogged.

To this day I do not understand that moment, but oh, well. What's done is done, as they always say.

My typical day as being James Potter's girlfriend after snogging in the library is quite unfair. James is busy chatting his head off with his arm slugged over my shoulder, but I see the looks. All the girls who had ever dated, fancied, wished to date but not fancied, worshiped, made voodoo dummies of, and/or stalked James were glaring at me. I think I once saw a voodoo doll of _me_.

It was hard at first. The threatening letters. Being dragged off defenseless by raving mad girls with frills glued onto their wands by Permanent Sticking Charms. Those moments took a toll on me physically and emotionally. But, as Remus put it—that boy knows everything—they aren't the ones James rendezvoused with at seven AM in the library.

Class just ended and I'm not yet done with this journal yet.

_No, James,_ I think to myself, _this journal is worth more than a snog session. Jeez._

But I smile at him and tell him I'll just need a minute.

* * *

I held out all I could because James wouldn't let me write in my journal for the rest of the day. Thank goodness for the stairs to the girls' dormitories, or else I'll never be able to write this down.

Just as we walked out of Transfiguration, one of James's most loyal followers (she might be the one who made the voodoo dolls) tapped me on the shoulder. James's eyes slid over to her when I stopped talking animatedly to him. I greeted her warmly.

"Oh, hello," the girl said, and had the courage to continue. "I was just wondering, is it worth it?"

The smile on my face froze, and James's hand slinked around my waist, giving a definite tug. I stumbled against him, my hair mussing against his shoulder. He's not the tallest guy in our year, or just plain tall—that doesn't mean he's _short_, though. I'd say medium. Five nine's not short…right?—so what does that say about me? Am I a Shrinky Dink?

"Worth what?" I asked pleasantly.

She rolled her eyes as if talking to a complete idiot. "Dating James."

"Oh."

I tilted my head up to gaze at him, my eyes locking with his. I turned back to the girl, grinning so large my eyes crinkled until they're almost shut.

"Of course," I replied. "He's everything I wanted and more."

And I meant it.

Except maybe not nine AM on a weekend.

Let's think rationally here, yeah?

The End

* * *

Reviewers get a date with Sirius, who will wear such fantastic pants you won't be able to take you eyes off of them!


End file.
